


Whipping Boy

by siegeofangels



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Cock Cages, Corporal Punishment, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Sounding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 17:45:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13276653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siegeofangels/pseuds/siegeofangels
Summary: Each team has a whipping boy. This year it's Beau's turn.TRASHFIC.





	Whipping Boy

Sleeping in Toronto always carries with it a sort of weird trepidation, the feeling of wanting to be picked and fearing it ar the same time. It's pain but it's honor too, like everything else in hockey. To take care of your team and have them take care of you. Beau can't sleep. 

It might not be him, anyway; it could be Borts, or Nealer, or Kuni or Tanger. You don't know. The League picks who they pick and there's no use worrying about it, he tells himself firmly.

Still, it's a long time before he drifts off, sprawled in Toronto’s nicest sheets, the bolt on the hotel room door left unlocked. 

He wakes up to the sharp pain-pinch of a needle in his shoulder and the low murmurs of the men sent to collect him. They're big and broad, as far as he can tell in the dark. He supposes some guys fight. He's not one of them, though. Besides, soon the drugs will kick in and couldn't fight if he wanted. 

“Hi,” he says. None of them respond.

Beau drifts in and out of consciousness as they take him . . . where they take him, he has no idea where. The room is brightly lit and he doesn't really have control of his muscles. There's a tube breathing for him. Nothing hurts, but there are still weird sensations as the men move him, as they stretch muscle and pull and push. 

One of them says something he can't make out, and after that he starts to wake up, can feel the pain when they manipulate his arms and legs. 

“Left knee,” one of them says, and there's an answering clack of computer keys. “Wrists are good,” says another. 

A soreness in his ass is starting to make itself known, and there's some weird sort of sensation in his balls. He tries to look down but can't. It takes him a minute to realize that his head is strapped to the table. Still drugged.   
They unstrap him, flip him over, and restrap him before he really realizes what's going on. When his dick hits the table pain-pleasure-sensation shoots through him and he can't help whimpering into the padded surface his face is smashed into. Sorry, sorry, he thinks, and falls down into unconsciousness again. 

He wakes up as he's walking and that's super weird. Hotel, he registers. Sweatpants. Carrying a bag. Basically his entire pelvic region feels off and his throat is scratchy. 

A door. Sid, signing something. Bed. 

Slowly the room stops spinning. Beau is lying on his side with someone spooning him. It smells like Sid. “Sid?” he says, and Sid’s quiet voice says “Yeah, welcome back.” 

They lie there for a while in the quiet. Beau reaches a hand down inside his pants. He feels plastic and skin-warm metal. Right. The--cage. That they do. And--he shifts his hips--the plug. 

“You gonna do it?” he asks Sid. Sid is hard, Beau can tell, and Beau is going to be fucked soon, one way or another. Better it's Sid, now, careful, than who knows who, ebullient after a win. In the old days, he knows, they just fucking ran a train on you and that was that. He's read Shanny’s Players Trib article. 

Sid kisses the back of his neck and pushes Beau’s pants down. The plug comes out, uncomfortably, and then Sid is pushing his cock in, filling him, hitting places inside Beau that light up. 

Sid is panting in his ear, and Beau gets a feeling of warm satisfaction. He made his captain feel like that, his body is giving Sid pleasure. Sid’s fingers dig into his hips. 

“Fuck,” Beau says, and pushes back into the rhythm. 

“Turn your--” Sid says. “Come on, I want to kiss you.” 

So Beau turns his head and opens his mouth for Sid, and Sid comes like that, gasping into Beau’s mouth. 

When Sid pulls out Beau lets out a whimper and squirms in his arms; he feels like he's on fire under his skin but he can't come, he's not even hard because of the cage but there's still sensation in his dick, like--

“I know, I know,” Sid says. “Sit up for a minute, okay?” 

He gets Beau sitting up in a giant pile of pillows, gives him a Gatorade, and snuggles up to him. Sid’s a good snuggler. 

“Drink that, okay?” Sid says, and Beau leans his shaking body into Sid’s and takes careful swallows. 

After a little while the warmth and the sugar are starting to kick in, and Beau is feeling more like himself. He's also feeling other things, so he pushes the comforter aside to look at his dick. 

The cage fits snugly around his dick, holding it down, locked against his balls. There's a little padlock on the side. The thing is, though. The thing is. There's another padlock, and it's holding the end of a steel rod that disappears inside his dick. 

Beau touches it, gingerly, and it lights him up with pain-pleasure, and it's in him, it's locked inside him, and--

“Shh, shh,” Sid says. “It's okay.” 

It is not okay. 

Sid kisses the side of his head. “I'll take it out and then you can go piss, okay? You're fine.” 

He's got the key on a chain around his neck, tangling with the necklace he always wears. Beau wonders how long he's had it.

The lock turns neatly and Sid pulls the sound out. The sensation makes Beau want to cry, but he just buries his face in Sid's shoulder and breathes through it. 

“Okay, okay, It's out,” Sid says. “Let's get you up.” 

Once he pees he feels a little bit better; the cage is still an unfamiliar weight but not an unwelcome one, just a reminder of his role on the team. 

They sit on the bed and Sid feeds him candy as they go through the bag that Beau had been holding when the . . . when the guy had dropped him off. 

In the bag is: a can of Epsom salts; the clothes Beau had been sleeping in; a pair of brown leather cuffs with D-rings on them; and a folder with his name on it. 

The folder contains a little diagram of a guy, front and back, with the left knee circled in red and the upper back, ass, and thighs colored in green. There's a printout, too, that Sid reads to him, that tells him the areas of his body that are best for taking punishment and which positions should be avoided. It's signed by a doctor and the Pens’ trainer Terry. Beau supposes he was there, but honestly he was stoned to the gills and wouldn't have noticed the Easter Bunny. 

“I'm going to get you a hot bath before we need to get on the bus,” Sid says. “And waffles.” He hesitates. “You did good. Really good, okay? I know what it's like. You're doing great for me. For the team.” 

Beau smiles involuntarily at the praise. Maybe being the whipping boy isn't going to be so bad after all.

***

He takes his first punishment two days later: a loss in Calgary. They're all stripping down out of their gear when Terry says, “Come on, Beau, get your cuffs,” and jerks his head toward the hooks on the wall. 

Left knee circled, he remembers, so Terry keeps Beau standing and clips each wrist up and out. He's stretched so he can't move, facing the wall. His nose is almost touching the sign Dana had put up. It's a good day for hockey. 

Coach touches his bare shoulder. “Ten for the loss,” he says. “Count them off.” 

The room is unearthly quiet as his teammates watch him take the punishment; the only sound is the impact of leather on skin and his own rasping voice as he counts. 

Beau thought he knew pain but this is something else entirely: not accidental pain but the knowledge that he's taking on the team's bad play as a whole, that each stroke is deliberate and measured. 

By the time Dan gets to the tenth strike, tears are streaming down Beau’s face and his voice breaks on the number. 

“Let's pick it up out there next time, boys,” Dan says to the room, and there's a murmur of assent.

When they let Beau down he can only slump in his stall for a few minutes and breathe. At least he doesn't have to sit on a bruised ass all the way home. The guys come by on their way to the shower or the laundry bin, kiss him on the head or rub his shoulder. Say, “Next time, Beau,” and “Thanks, kid.” 

He drinks the gatorade he's handed, eats the pizza. Gets his breath back. Well, that was the first one, and he survived it. He can do this, can serve his team and come out the other side.

***

His change bag has the cock cage in it, so after his shower he goes to find Sid to be locked down for the night or the next couple of days or whatever they've decided. 

“Go find Flower tonight, eh?” Sid says while he locks Beau in. “Let him know he did good.” 

Beau looks at him. Confusion must show on his face because Sid responds by sticking his tongue in his cheek. 

Oh. Ohhhhh. “Yeah,” Beau says. “I'll do that.” 

Sid still has his hand on Beau’s junk. 

“Uh,” says Beau. 

Sid blinks. “Oh,” he says, too loudly, and takes his hand back. “Come see me after, okay, I want to make sure you're all right.” 

Flower likes a beej slow and delicate, it turns out, with his long fingers cradling Beau’s jaw. When he's done coming all over Beau’s lips he pulls Beau up to cuddle him and gently wipe his face with the corner of the sheet. 

“Perfect,” he says. “You're good for us, you know? You make us want to be better for you.” 

And Beau knows, he knows that that's why he's here, why his mouth tastes like come and he back stings, but it's still good to hear, still makes him feel warm inside. 

He doesn't know what to say so he just kisses Flower, on the underside of his jaw where the mask strap rubs. “Thanks,” he whispers. 

Sid has a shallow bath ready when Beau gets there, and he pulls Beau in with him, between his legs. “Here,” he says, and gives Beau a cold can. Beau drinks and soaks and lets the bubbles of the beer and the steam make his brain go soft. 

After a while, Sid rubs Beau's back with some kind of oil that feels good, so good, on his skin.   
“You're so pink here,” Sid says. “You did such a good job.” 

Beau squirms a little; he's getting used to the praise and the touch, he thinks. 

“I think you deserve to come,” Sid says. “Do you?” 

He doesn't know how to respond to that. He does, suddenly, desperately, want to come, but is he allowed? “We lost,” he says. 

“You already paid for that,” Sid reminds him, and drifts his hand over Beau’s caged dick, under the water. 

It seems all right. He thinks. “Yeah,” he says. 

“Ask nicely,” Sid says, and takes the key off his chain. 

“Please,” Beau says, and Sid unlocks the cage and draws it away from Beau carefully. The feeling of his dick finally hardening just turns him on more, a delicious feedback loop.

Sid's broad, talented hand begins to pull, firmly, as Sid begins to talk in Beau's ear, telling him how good he's doing, what an important part of the team he is, how much they all appreciate him being the boy. 

It feels good, so fucking good, so much better than he would have thought. How do you even do this when your captain isn't Sidney Crosby?

He ends up jizzing in the bathwater and they have to turn on the shower to rinse off, giggling under the spray. 

“You gonna be okay tonight?” Sid asks as they're toweling off. 

Beau pauses and takes stock of himself. Mostly it's just--a lot has happened today. He needs a minute. He needs a night's sleep that he knows won't be interrupted. “I think so,” he tells Sid. 

Sid beams and claps him on the shoulder. “Good,” he says. “Good boy.” 

***

A month later, Beau serves a bench minor for too many men on the ice. 

Dan exercises coach's choice for the impact punishment instead of going on the penalty kill, so Beau pulls off his jersey and pads and lets the officials cuff him to the wall of the penalty box. 

The arena is loud like the roar for a fight, for a goal, and he can't hear anything, even if he yells himself. So he does. He opens his mouth and screams along with the crowd. Lets the pain mix with their bloodlust and it gets him through the sharp bright feeling of the switch on his back. 

He mostly knows it's over by the sound of hockey sticks hitting the boards, the sound of respect. 

The crowd hates Penguins but they cheer just as loud for him when he skates back to the bench and puts his pads back on. He lets the sound buoy him up and skates out for his next shift like he's flying. 

The Pens pull off the win, and the guys are boisterous and handsy in the locker room, through to the shower. Beau fingers himself open, his foot up on the wall and one hand on Borts for support. 

“Hey, first star,” he yells over to Geno, “when do you want me?” 

Geno sticks his face under the shower spray and shakes like a dog. When he emerges he says, “Dinner, then my room, we see who wants in.” Then he roars, “Sid, lock him up!” and the room echoes with cheers. 

Terry puts the sound into him again by Geno’s request. Beau sits on a table trying not to gasp while Geno leans against the door, eyes dark and glittering. Beau's getting used to the feeling but it still makes him want to howl at the moon. 

Beau squirms all through dinner with the plug pushing on his most sensitive spots and the cage and sound reminding him that he can't even pee, that his body is his team's tonight.

The guys all take turns feeding him tidbits off their plates and Geno, next to him, keeps one hand firmly on Beau's crotch when he's not using it to shovel steak into his own mouth. 

Back in the hotel, Geno cuffs Beau's hands behind his back and makes him beg before he even lets Sid take the sound out to let him piss, and even then he cages Beau in from behind with his long arms and holds his dick for him, one big hand flat on Beau's belly. 

After, Beau lies on the bed with his head over the edge so Nealer can fuck his face. Geno folds Beau's legs up and sticks his dick in, using him roughly, taking his pleasure and his reward.

Beau's game-sore back drags on the the rough bedspread. It hurts and he likes it, likes knowing that he's giving something more to his team than 15 minutes on the ice, likes how G and Nealer make noises above him. Likes the way Sid sits and watches. 

After they finish, Beau draws a leg up and offers, “Sid?” He feels empty, his blood racing. 

“Ah, hell,” Sid says. “Why not.” 

Sid fucks him until he's almost sobbing with it, pinpoint aim after Geno’s deep dicking that had wound him up. 

Geno’s sprawled on the bed now, twisting Beau's nipples. “No coming tonight, Sunshine,” he tells Beau, and fuck, fuck, Beau had been hoping. 

“Please, please,” Beau begs, choking the words out to the rhythm of Sid's thrusts, but Geno just shakes his head, the bully. 

“Is my night, you don't come,” he says. “Maybe tomorrow you get.” 

Beau goes back to Sid's room with him, after. Come is smeared on his skin, his mouth feels used, and his back is still stinging. His dick is leaking and he can't come. He wants to skate suicides, wants to do pushups on the hotel floor until his arms give out. He paces around the room.

Sid grabs his arm and stops him. “On the floor,” he says, and leads Beau through a series of yoga stretches until his breathing slows. 

“Better?” says Sid. 

“Yeah,” Beau says reluctantly. Now that he's come down, he feels the pain more. Wants Sid's hands on him. “Can you--the lotion?” 

He gets a bath out of it too, scented and steaming, his upper body slumped over Sid’s lap as he sits on the edge of the tub. Sid pours careful cupfuls of water over Beau's body, gently washes his ass. 

“There you go,” Sid says, his voice warm. “You did great tonight. Took a bench minor and you were still so good for G. Lean down?” 

Beau bows his head over his knees and stretches his hamstrings. The bubbles tickle his nose. 

“Good, good,” Sid tells him, and smooths salve over Beau's back until tingling replaces the pain. He's suddenly worn out. 

“Sid?” he says into his knees. “Can I sleep with you?” 

“Of course,” is the answer. 

The towels are hotel-fluffy as Sid dries him off and puts him to bed, careful of his back. Sid is a solid block of muscle in the bed, one leg thrown over Beau's, heavy and firm, holding him on his side. Sid's hand gently pats Beau's ass. 

“You're doing so good,” Sid tells him, quiet in the dark. Beau lets him drown everything else out: the pain, the exhaustion, the ache in his balls. Lets Sid's praise fill him up. 

He feels like he's floating and anchored at the same time. He closes his eyes and lets Sid's words lull him, nonsense praise as Beau falls asleep. The last thing he hears is, “Such a good boy.”


End file.
